Last One Alive Read online

  Everyone LOVES Karin Nordin!

  ‘Brooding and atmospheric – full of mystery and twists where nothing is quite as it seems’

  Catherine Cooper, Sunday Times bestselling author of The Chalet

  ‘Such a dark, atmospheric and compelling story!’

  Jackie Kabler, bestselling author of The Perfect Couple

  ‘Gripped me from the very first page!’

  Louise Mumford, bestselling author of Sleepless

  ‘Absolutely loved it!’

  Laure Van Rensburg, author of Nobody But Us

  ‘An immersive tale of past secrets and flawed family relationships, all wrapped up with a … compelling narrative that had me glued to my Kindle for most of the day’

  Jenny O’Brien, bestselling author of Silent Cry

  ‘Be ready to stay up at night until you’re done!’

  NetGalley reviewer,

  ‘I LOVED THIS BOOK!’

  NetGalley reviewer,

  ‘Wow! This is a gripping debut novel about family, secrets and lies … held me spellbound from beginning to end’

  NetGalley reviewer,

  ‘A real page turner. Kept me engrossed from start to finish. Loved it’

  NetGalley reviewer,

  About the Author

  KARIN NORDIN has been a compulsive reader of thrilling stories since childhood and discovered her love of Scandinavian crime fiction during summers spent visiting family in Norway and Sweden. She has worked in healthcare and education, including as a pharmacy technician, karate instructor, and an English language teacher for the Dutch military.

  Karin completed the Creative Writing MSc from the University of Edinburgh with Distinction in 2019 and also holds an MA in Scandinavian Literary Studies from the University of Amsterdam. Born in ‘The Biggest Little City in the World’ and raised in America’s Rust Belt, she now lives in the Netherlands.

  Last One Alive is her second novel.

  Also by Karin Nordin

  Where Ravens Roost

  Last One Alive

  KARIN NORDIN

  HQ

  An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

  1 London Bridge Street

  London SE1 9GF

  www.harpercollins.co.uk

  HarperCollinsPublishers

  1st Floor, Watermarque Building, Ringsend Road

  Dublin 4, Ireland

  First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2021

  Copyright © Karin Nordin 2021

  Karin Nordin asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

  Source ISBN: 9780008462055

  E-book Edition © September 2021 ISBN: 9780008462062

  Version: 2021-09-06

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Everyone LOVES Karin Nordin!

  About the Author

  Also by Karin Nordin

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Epilogue

  Extract

  Acknowledgements

  Author’s Letter

  Dear Reader …

  Keep Reading …

  About the Publisher

  For Feiko

  Chapter 1

  Lördag | Saturday

  The wind swept the rain sideways. It was cold and each raindrop pricked the skin like tiny needles. Louisa turned her back to the spray and watched as her two colleagues hurried along the pavement under a shared umbrella towards the car park. They called out to her that they’d see her in the morning, but she could barely hear them over the hard splatter of water against the ground. She waved. Then she twisted the master key in the latch on the library door, checked to make sure it was firmly locked, and made her way to the back side of the building towards the shortcut for the bus stop.

  The sky was dark, teeming with restless clouds, and a deafening clap of thunder quickened her pace. The path behind the library was muddy from the water rolling downhill. She should have walked the long way round through the car park. At least there it would be wet concrete instead of wet dirt.

  Up ahead the headlights of the bus shone through the downpour. She would have to pick up the pace in order to catch it. If she missed the bus she’d have to wait thirty minutes for the next one. Or call her father to pick her up. But she didn’t want to bother him. He already had enough going on without worrying about her every second of the day. And he did worry about her every second of the day, which was why she never called him unless it was absolutely necessary. At twenty-six years old she shouldn’t have been treated like a child, but in her family’s eyes she hadn’t aged a day in eight years. To them she would forever be eighteen and missing.

  Her shoe stuck in the mud. She stumbled, her foot sliding out of the discount faux-leather slip-on. Her tote bag fell off her shoulder and onto the wet ground. The bus pulled to a languid stop, the wheezing sound of the hydraulics buried beneath the rain. She tugged her shoe out of the mud and slipped it back onto her foot. She was soaked down to the skin. She picked up he
r bag and waved at the bus, hoping to catch the driver’s attention.

  ‘Wait!’ she yelled. But her voice was drowned out by the clamour of rain. And by the time she made it up the hill the bus was already pulling out and continuing down the road.

  She groaned and stood under the small overhang of the bus stop. Not that it would help. She was already drenched to the bone. Maybe she would call her father, after all.

  ‘You just missed it. That’s too bad.’

  Louisa whipped her head around, surprised by the sound of another voice. A stranger stood beside her, too close for comfort. A sharp pinch pricked her neck and she tried to get away, but a hand gripped around her elbow. It was strong, the fingers bruising her through the thickness of her jacket. She tugged her arm, but it was held fast. She looked up at the figure, but couldn’t get a clear glimpse of their face. They wore a mask. All she could see was their eyes. A cold icy stare that began to blur in front of her.

  For a brief moment she thought she was dreaming that the stranger’s face was melting. Then a wave of dizziness swept over her and she realised she’d been drugged. She wobbled on her feet until her knees gave out. Then she slipped down a tunnel of darkness.

  Louisa awoke to her cheek pressed against cold damp concrete. She had no sense of time. No idea of how long she’d been out. Her head was spinning and a dull throb ached at her temple. The sharp scent of old petrol and oil stains filled her nose. It reminded her of her father’s garage. She rubbed her eyes, hoping it would help her vision come back into focus. But the room was pitch-black. Her leg was asleep. She shook it and a heavy clanking rattled. She felt around in the dark. A metal clasp was fixed around her ankle. Her stomach dropped and her heart rate jolted. She reached around her, following the chain on her leg to an anchor bolted against the wall.

  No, no, no.

  An image of him flashed in her mind and she feverishly tugged on the chain. Her leg, still numb from whatever had been used to drug her, prickled at the sudden movement. She pulled harder, shoving her stronger foot against the wall for leverage and using the weight of her body to stretch the chain taut. It didn’t budge. She crawled closer to the wall and felt around the bolt, nails digging at the cold wall in search of any weak points.

  This couldn’t be happening. Not again. It must be a nightmare. Because it couldn’t be him. He was dead. They said he was dead.

  She heaved on the chain. Tears streamed down her face. The muscles in her arms strained nearly to their breaking point, but she refused to stop pulling. She couldn’t let it happen again. Not again. She’d never survive him a second time. Once had nearly killed her.

  She wrenched her leg upward. The sharp edge of the clasp tore her skin. A white-hot pain shot up through her shin. She dropped her leg and the chain to the floor. She desperately tried to focus on escape, but her mind fought against her, surging forth with the memories of eight years ago. Her breaths increased with the furious beating of her heart and her throat began to close up.

  Don’t you dare have a panic attack! Focus! Pull yourself together!

  A door creaked open, letting in a thin sliver of yellow light. She winced and raised her hand to shield her eyes from the sudden brightness. She saw the legs first. Two thin shadows walking towards her. She couldn’t make out any details. The figure was distorted by the jaundiced gleam from the light outside the room and her own panicked thoughts.

  Dear God, please don’t be him. Not him. Anyone but him.

  The figure stopped just out of reach.

  ‘You were out for a long time.’

  The voice was jarring and she scrambled to place it, but it was unfamiliar. It wasn’t him. She inhaled deeply at that realisation, holding her breath in her chest longer than necessary before breathing out a sigh. But there was no relief. The hairs stood rigid on the back of her neck. Because if it wasn’t him then who was it?

  ‘Please,’ Louisa begged. ‘What do you want? Money? I’ll give you anything I can. Just please let me go.’

  ‘I don’t want money.’

  A shiver crawled up Louisa’s spine. Her eyes narrowed, trying to get a clearer look at the person standing before her. They were tall, lean-figured. But the voice was cold, just as those eyes had been. Mercilessly cold. And she almost wished it were him. He was at least familiar. He was a known entity. And everything aside, he had loved her in his own sick way. But Louisa had the impression that this person didn’t love anyone. They didn’t exude a single ounce of compassion. That was how she knew she would die.

  ‘Then what do you want? Tell me, please. I’ll do anything you want. Just tell me.’

  The figure shifted their weight from one foot to the other before taking one step closer.

  Louisa crawled back against the wall. The chain rattled along after her. She gripped her hands around the bolt on the wall. ‘Please … What do you want from me?’

  ‘I want you to give a message to Kjeld Nygaard.’

  Louisa recoiled in shock. ‘What?’

  But before Louisa could process what had been said, her captor lit a match.

  And Louisa screamed.

  Chapter 2

  Måndag | Monday

  Kjeld swerved onto Föreningsgatan and parked his car along the kerb a block from Lilla Sam, the primary school building where his daughter, Tove, attended classes. He’d almost forgotten that she had a half-day scheduled because of a dentist appointment and had to race to the school to get there on time. In his haste he stepped out of the car and into a large puddle on the street, drenching his pant leg halfway up his calf.

  ‘Goddammit,’ he grumbled as he slammed the door shut and made his way down the pavement. It had finally stopped raining, but a damp chill lingered in the air and he turned up the collar of his coat against the wind. It was February and the weather couldn’t seem to decide whether it wanted to wallow in the last remaining breaths of winter or fall face first into a wet spring.

  Kjeld wished it would make up its damn mind.

  From the outside, Lilla Sam looked more like a small mountain lodge than a school. The brown wood, ornately carved accoutrements along the windows, and stone foundation were reminiscent of a stave church. Compared to most other primary schools in Gothenburg, Lilla Sam was rather posh, a result of having once been a private academy. When the country removed tuition fees from its educational system, the private school became just another public one, but it still had a reputation for graduating the children of upper-class families.

  In that respect, Tove was one of the exceptions. Kjeld had a particular disdain for institutions that were synonymous with wealth and societal standing, but Bengt had insisted that the school offered a system of learning that best suited Tove. It also had a very prestigious art curriculum and, being a fine art painter by trade, this was the ultimate tool in convincing Kjeld’s ex-husband that no other school in the city would be good enough for their daughter.

  Kjeld didn’t begrudge Bengt’s decision. When it came to Tove, Kjeld almost always gave Bengt the final say. Not just because he wanted to make Bengt happy, but because he knew that Bengt always put in the time and research when it came to their daughter. He always made the right choices as a father. Kjeld, on the other hand, was much less attuned to fatherhood. He loved his daughter, but he wasn’t as attentive as he ought to have been. Kjeld didn’t consider himself a complete failure as a parent. Nor did Bengt. At least, Kjeld didn’t think he did. But Kjeld had a lot of making up to do for the last few years, both to Tove and his ex. And part of that compromise was admitting that Bengt was much more suited to the administrative aspects of Tove’s life than Kjeld was.

  Thunder rumbled in the distance and Kjeld hurried towards the school entrance. When he reached the gate, however, he paused, the corner of his eye catching a glimpse of another man helping Tove into a sharp black BMW SUV at the end of the street.

  Kjeld immediately saw red. His body tensed as he watched the man and he had to clench his teeth to remind himself not to say something t
hat would start a fight.

  Liam Berg.

  Bengt’s live-in boyfriend and Kjeld’s replacement.

  Kjeld bit back his frustration and jogged over to the SUV. When Tove saw him her face brightened, smile stretching ear to ear. She was missing a front tooth, one of the many childhood milestones he lost out on by no longer being with Bengt, and when she spoke it was with a slight slur on her S’s. ‘Daddy! Look at me! I lost a tooth! And I got a pack of princess stickers from the tooth fairy!’

  Kjeld smiled. A sense of unexpected pride warmed his face, but was hidden behind the scruff of his beard. ‘That’s lovely, sweetheart. You can tell me all about it when we get home. Come on. Grab your things.’

  Tove was in the process of climbing out of the back seat when Liam stepped around the door.

  Liam was a wall of a man. He was tall, at least two inches taller than Kjeld, with broad swimmer’s shoulders and a physique that made it clear he prioritised the gym in his daily routine. His hair was styled in waves with a low fade and he had a full beard that was neatly maintained and natural. He hadn’t had a beard the last time Kjeld saw him and that prickled Kjeld’s already precarious temper. Kjeld saw that beard as an intentional act of revenge. Bengt had always insisted that he preferred a clean-shaven face when they were together, which was part of the reason why Kjeld had allowed his own ruddy-hued beard to grow out after they separated. But while facial hair made Kjeld look a bit like a scruffy lumberjack, Liam managed to exude the coolness of a men’s style magazine.

  At forty-seven years old Liam was showing some grey, particularly around the chin and mouth, but instead of making him look old, it gave him an air of timeless sophistication. And whether intentional or not, Kjeld saw that insufferable grin as an expression of smugness. The kind of smugness Kjeld couldn’t help but associate with people like Liam. Doctors.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Liam asked. He had a deep clear tone to his voice. The enunciation of the words was perfect, but inflected with a heavy English accent. It’s an East London dialect, was how Bengt first explained it to Kjeld, but Kjeld wouldn’t have been able to tell it apart from any other British accent. It did, however, make his Swedish sound a bit more serious and less sing-songy.